


give me shelter through every bit of weather

by thegrayness



Series: the touch of your hand [8]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Couch Cuddles, M/M, Snacks & Snack Food, Tentacles, Thunderstorms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-18 21:23:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22833409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegrayness/pseuds/thegrayness
Summary: There is a storm in the forecast and, historically, David’s tentacles don’t love storms. Patrick makes sure everyone feels safe.For #rosebuddwrites February prompts #15: thunderstorm.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Series: the touch of your hand [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1439239
Comments: 21
Kudos: 101





	give me shelter through every bit of weather

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a series I’m doing for the February Writing Prompts from Rosebudd Writes. The series is multi-fandom so please, please check the tags for each one if you decide to subscribe.
> 
> Beta’d by TINN. Title from (SURPRISE) Never Give Up on Me by MisterWives.
> 
> (Also just a note about the timeline (lol) for this series... they are not yet engaged. So this occurs some time before The Hike. In case anyone wants to know lol.)

David was snuggled on the couch under at least two blankets, a few tentacles wrapped around him for comfort and the others buried in various corners of the nest he’d created. Well, Patrick had created it for him, tucking throw blankets around him as soon as the rain started. 

There was a big storm in the forecast and David’s tentacles… didn’t like thunderstorms. Or rain, either, really. There haven’t been too many—for some reason, it rarely rains in Schitt’s Creek, even though Patrick says Elm Glen has really high rainfall accumulation. But the few they’ve had have been brutal, and by now he and Patrick have a pretty good routine down to keep the tentacles fairly calm and super safe. 

At first, Patrick tried to pre-soothe them by putting on a spa-like soundtrack. Tuned out the tinkling of the music made the tentacles restless and they wouldn’t stop poking and prodding both of them for no reason. 

So they nixed that idea and decided TV was the best auditory solution. 

(“Patrick, they don’t have ears, you know,” David had said when Patrick declared he’d come up with an idea involving deep-sea documentaries. 

“They can obviously hear us though. Remember that time they knocked over my tea because I asked if your sweater was genuine muppet skin?”

David hummed. “Yes, well, you deserved that. It’s a Dries Van Noten.”)

The next steps were the tactile enhancements. It was no secret that the tentacles 1) wanted to touch every single thing that inhabited their space and 2) wanted those things to be soft and/or fluffy. So, when they were brainstorming, Patrick had gathered all of their spare blankets and dropped them onto the couch. “A blanket nest!” He’d said, shaking his hands into some kind of distant relative of jazz hands. 

That seemed to work pretty well, and Patrick must have taken mental notes about what didn’t go that smoothly the first time, because the next time they’d had a storm, he was gently correcting David in terms of blanket order and snack choices (which David took very _specific_ offense to) and couch position. David was gearing up to be annoyed about it, but Patrick looked, frankly, adorably eager to take care of the tentacles (and David) during what was about to be a trying time for them all.

So now he just let Patrick maneuver him, and the eight appendages, urging one to wind around David’s waist. That was an ideal position, and it’d be all fine and good if David didn’t have _eight_ tentacles and not enough body space for all of them to wrap around. He tucked a few blankets around the two tentacles that seemed to get the most worked up about the vibrations of the thunder. One of them floated up and poked him in the cheek before settling down under the nest. 

David shifted a bit, accepted a bottle of water from Patrick, and watched with a pleased smile as he set up a variety of snacks on the coffee table. He stuffed the remote into the folds of the blankets so David could grab it, and David queued up one of the milder Blue Planet episodes. Sometimes the intense music during the struggle for survival in certain episodes got the tentacles riled up during storms, even though they loved action movies, normally.

He sighed and watched the neck tentacle try to follow Patrick back into the kitchen. David pulled it closer, laying it between fuzzy blanket folds, only to have it shoot back out when Patrick was again within touching distance. Patrick nuzzled against it as he set his tea on the table. 

The sky was dark, way too dark for 2pm, and David hoped this storm wasn’t as bad as the last one. That thunder had been _brutal_. 

Patrick settled down next to him, pulling his feet under him and arranging the blankets so they were under them together with most of the tentacles. The neck tentacle slid over and around the back of Patrick’s neck before dipping right down beneath the collar of his t-shirt. 

Patrick pulled two tentacles into his lap, making sure to keep the blankets intact around all parties involved, and pet them gently as the first rumblings of thunder sounded in the distance. David felt some tentacles tense up, and he hit play on the remote to hopefully distract them. He grabbed the half-filled bowl of pretzels from the coffee table and nestled it into the tiny space between himself and Patrick. 

True to form, the tentacle that constantly _stole_ food from David’s plate to give it to Patrick shoved itself into the bowl, hooked three pretzels, and thrust them at Patrick’s face. David smirked behind his water bottle as Patrick gave a few pets to the tentacle and accepted the proffered snack. The tentacle poked at his cheek several times until Patrick gave in and took a crunchy bite, chewing dramatically as if to say ‘Okay, I did it, are you happy?’ The tentacle flicked at the hair on the side of his head and settled back down in his lap. 

A quiet laugh escaped David’s lips, and Patrick flushed down his neck. “Shut up,” he muttered. David pressed his lips together to stifle his giggles. 

There was a crash of thunder much closer than before that startled all of them, and David quickly put the top back on his water bottle to avoid spilling. The two most dramatic tentacles squeezed themselves around David, not tightly, just anxiously, and David made a sympathetic noise. He stroked them softly, arranging the blankets a little better for the change in position. 

The tentacles on Patrick trembled and Patrick made comforting little noises in his throat as he fidgeted with the blankets around them. David reached out to brush the back of his fingers along Patrick’s cheek. It was tough to see the tentacles in distress but not really be able to do anything about it. 

Patrick turned his head and pressed a kiss to David’s palm. “It’s supposed to be a quick storm,” he murmured. “And it sounds close. Should be over soon.” He stared down at the tentacles in his lap as he spoke, and one drifted up to press briefly against his mouth, gently touching his bottom lip. Patrick moved away slightly and chomped his teeth together playfully, making the tentacle pull back in alarm before quickly getting the joke and slipping joyfully around the back of Patrick’s neck with the neck tentacle. 

They settled in again, bracing themselves for—and comforting themselves after—each rolling boom of thunder. One was so bad, it even got David worked up, his heart hammering in his chest, which made the tentacles even _more_ riled up about both the thunder and their concern for David. Patrick reconfigured their positions, then, so that he was laying along the couch with David reclining between his legs, a few tentacles still wrapped around him. He felt a bit like he was in a cocoon, but it wasn’t that back, and Patrick’s fingers in his hair were quite soothing. 

The storm was over quickly, and they got through the rest fairly unscathed, save for a frightened tentacle flailing out to knock Patrick’s tea all over the table. Luckily, his super resourceful boyfriend had paper towels at the ready for such an incident. It was soon after the spill that the thunder moved off into the distance, and the clouds got lighter and thinner, and within minutes the sun was shining onto the street outside. 

David hummed happily as one tentacle decided it was safe to unwind from around his torso and draped itself over the back of the couch. The blankets were cozy, and Patrick was cozy, and _David_ was cozy, so he snuggled further into Patrick’s arms, turning his head to press a kiss to the inside of his biceps. He thought Patrick might be talking to him, but he was halfway to sleep, and before he could float up to the surface, he was out.

He woke to the low sounds of kitchen noises and the vague smell of food cooking. It sounded like someone trying to be extra careful and not clank around. Then David was unceremoniously jarred all the way awake when one of his tentacles basically smacked him in the face. It was—big surprise—his neck tentacle, engaging in its usual dramatics because it was more than three feet from Patrick’s neck. David batted it away and shoved it into the confines of the blanket fortress. He grumbled to himself and adjusted his position so he was peeking over the back of the couch into the kitchen. 

Patrick was looking at him with his loud eyes and his cute smile and David grinned back. “Hi, honey,” David rasped, voice hoarse from sleep. 

“Hi, baby,” Patrick said, setting down the plates in his hand and moving towards David. He ran his fingers through the side of David’s wild sleep-hair and David’s eyes fluttered closed as he leaned into the touch. “Did you have a nice nap?”

David nodded, blinking blearily as his neck tentacle nuzzled against the side of Patrick’s throat. Patrick leaned over and kissed David’s forehead. “Relax,” he murmured, standing up again. “I’m making pasta.”

David smiled. “Mmm, pasta.” He laid back on the couch, ready to watch an old season of The Great British Baking Show, but the neck tentacle shot out and shoved itself into the pocket of Patrick’s sweatpants, halting his walk back to the kitchen. 

David groaned. “Fine,” he said, flinging the blankets off of himself. He pulled the tentacle back far enough so he could get off the couch without mishap, and then threw himself into a seat at the kitchen table so his tentacles could love on Patrick all they wanted. Apparently a two-hour nap was too long to be away from him. 

Which—David kind of agreed. 

After a few minutes, he got up to stand next to Patrick, bumping their shoulders together and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Hi,” he said, watching Patrick stir a pot of red sauce. 

“Hi, David,” Patrick said with a laugh. 

“I missed you,” he sighed. 

Patrick was still laughing quietly. “I missed you too, baby.” 

A few tentacles make themselves at home around Patrick’s shoulders, one securely around his waist. David laid his head on Patrick’s shoulder, and Patrick set the spoon on the spoon rest and covered the pot. He turned towards David, and pulled him close by the waist.

David rested his hands on Patrick’s chest and leaned into him. “Love you,” he mumbled, kissing him softly. Patrick made a pleased noise against his mouth, but a tentacle came over to annoyingly interrupt them, tapping Patrick on the cheek. David pulled away, disgruntled, frowning at the tentacle. 

Patrick huffed out a laugh and pressed a quick kiss to the tentacle, and David did, too, just for good measure. That seemed to appease it, and it slid happily around Patrick’s shoulders. “Thank you for taking care of us,” David whispered. 

Patrick grinned. “Of course.” He gave David another not-so-brief kiss. “I love you, too.”


End file.
